Chapter 33
For the first time in her life Kass’s heart knew no joy as Astarte slid into spacedock high above Blue Moon, the epitome of beauty, peace, love. The ultimate shelter. Yet now . . .
As they glided in, she caught a glimpse of Alek behind the space station’s wall of crystos—waiting to welcome them home. Waiting to turn over command of Blue Moon, as a dutiful officer should. Waiting, undoubtedly reluctantly, for the inevitable words of sympathy that would pierce him to the heart all over again.
As the events of the trip to Hercula kaleidoscoped with speculation about the battle to come, Kass watched a comp screen view of the many tech specialists scurrying off the ship to rejoin their crews. Instead of a grand welcome for resurrecting the Herculon space fleet, they’d come home to yet another emergency, the battle for Hercula a mere warm-up to the battle for Psyclid.
“Ensign Rigel, with me.”
Startled by Tal’s abrupt words, Kass opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but all she saw was her husband’s back as he strode toward the door. She stood and followed him out, but only until the door shut behind him. “What?” she demanded. “Where are we going?”
“Kamal wants to talk to his crew.”
“I thought Dagg was going straight on to Psyclid.”
“Change of plans.”
Fizzet! She would never adjust to Tal in mysterious rebel leader mode. Never!
They met Rand Kamal in the airlock, and Kass had to double-time it to keep up with the two men as they charged down the space station’s outer corridor. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go. Power had its privileges—Dagg Lassan’s ship was just sliding into the spacedock next to Astarte. Kass felt a niggling of guilt as she realized she was relieved to put off their meeting with Alek, even if only for a short while. How did one ever know the right thing to say to someone who was grieving for a loved one?
To Kass’s surprise, Dagg Lassan stood at attention and saluted Tal as he said, “The men are assembled, Captain. As ordered.” Somehow he managed to say this without so much as a glance at Rand Kamal. Clearly, Dagg was not a fan of the emperor’s nephew.
In her younger days, before leaving Psyclid for the Regulon Space Academy, Kass had christened a number of merchant ships, but she had never been inside the hold of one. They came to a halt on a narrow catwalk above a vast space that made the three hundred twelve survivors of Andromeda’s plunge into the ocean look like a mere handful of men and women. There was a general stirring as they spotted their captain and rose to their feet, the not-quite-stale air filled with excited whispers.
“Twenty-six are still in medbay,” Lassan said. “The rest are here.” He still addressed his words only to Tal.
Tal nodded to Kamal. The Regulon rear admiral stepped forward. Hesitated. Visibly gathered himself. Interesting, Kass thought. The seemingly unflappable Reg royal was actually allowing his emotions to show.
A half-step forward—Kamal’s hands firmed around the catwalk railing. Without amplification of any kind, his voice soared out, reaching every officer and crewmember. “I want to commend you for your bravery in battle and for your remarkable evacuation under dire conditions. That three hundred twelve survived is a miracle. Omnovah be praised!” The hall rang with the sound of Andromeda’s officers and crew shouting, Omnovah be praised!
Rand Kamal remained at attention, head high, and waited until silence finally returned to the hold. Kass could feel his ambivalence, his determination. He was going to tell them the truth. And blast Tal for not giving her clue.
Suddenly, Kass’s knees almost noodled out from under her. Why had it taken her so long to notice? S’sorrokan was showing himself to a crew of hostile Regs. Inevitably, news would get back to Regula Prime. Vander Rigel, Reyla, Dayna, Keylan—they’d be exposed. Jailed, if not worse. Had Tal gone mad?
Or was this the right time, the right place? Time to rub Reg faces in the defection of one of the first families of Regula Prime? But still . . .
Kamal interrupted her thoughts. “You have all served Regula Prime and Andromeda well. I am more proud of you than I am of myself.” The silence in the hold deepened, ears pricking at the hint of a caveat to come. “During my years on Psyclid, I admit to beginning to understand the rebel cause.” A rolling wave of shook the crowd below, punctuated by shouts of denial, hoots of derision.
“When Emperor Darroch first ordered Psyclid reduced to rubble, I helped talk him out of it.” Rand paused for a deep breath; he’d come to the point of no return. “But before the emperor changed his mind and decided to attack Hercula, I warned the rebels of his intentions.”
Angry shouts exploded from one side of the surviving crew to the other, drowning the gasps of horror from those who still refused to believe what they were hearing. (Captain’s been brainwashed, that’s the only explanation.) Kamal raised his hand, and gradually silence returned, sullen, disappointed, and confused.
“We have received word that Emperor Darroch has resurrected his plan of obliterating Psyclid. I cannot let that happen. I met too many good people there. I am, therefore, asking Captain Rigel—whom you all know—for an opportunity to fight at his side.” He glanced at Tal, managed a wry smile. “If he is willing to trust me enough to give me a ship, that is.” Tal nodded, returning a grimace of a smile that fit the irony of the moment.
Rand Kamal turned back to his officers and crew. “I am told prisoners will be housed in barracks formerly occupied by our own forces, so you should be comfortable enough on Psyclid. Unless, that is, the rebel defense fails, and the planet is turned to space dust.” That brought another sharp reaction from his audience as the truth of his statement sank in.
“However . . .” Rand paused, his gaze seeming to survey each crew member, one by one. “If any of you choose to join me—in whatever ship I am given—I will welcome you. This is a battle where you fight not for Regula Prime or for Psyclid but for your own lives. Lose this one, and we’re all dead. Every. Last. One. Of. Us.”
The voice of Andromeda’s First Officer rose above the murmurs of the crowd. “Captain, what happens if we help the rebels win?” Eyebrows raised, Rand turned to Tal, passing along this highly astute question.
Tal stepped forward, following Kamal’s example of both hands on the railing, leaning in to establish rapport with his audience. “I am Talryn Rigel. I am also S’sorrokan, leader of the rebellion.” Only a soft sibilance at this, as by this time most of the Andromeda’s crew had figured it out. “I give you my word that if you fight for the preservation of Psyclid—and all those on it—you will be given a choice when the battle is over. You may return to being prisoners, or you may join the rebellion. The choice is yours.”
“If we win.”
Tal looked down at the First Officer and offered the cheeky grin of his pirate persona, Captain Kane. “Very true. Only if we win. If we don’t”—he shrugged—few of us will be around to care.”
“You have three hours to make your decision,” Kamal told his crew. “After that, Captain Lassan will continue on to Psyclid with those who choose to remain prisoners. Dismissed!” Rand turned and strode off the catwalk, relying heavily on the banister rails to pull himself back up to the airlock. He kept going—off Dagg’s ship, through the transparent tunnel of the outer ring, finally pausing, head down, one hand flat against a support column, the only thing keeping his knees from buckling.
Kass wanted to rush to him, grip his arm, assure him all would be well . . . after all, it wasn’t every day a captain admitted that he had betrayed his emperor, his nation, his family, as well as the entire Regulon Space Fleet. But Rand needed time, needed the privacy of these few moments to lick his wounds. She would not intrude.
Tal was first to catch up. “Sorry,” he said. “Recruiting my crew took two years. You had two minutes.”
“Not recruitment. Arm-twisting.”
“We-ell”—Tal drew the word out—“you won’t need many for a pinnace.”
“For what?” Rand’s droopin
g head shot up.
Tal took pity on him. “What about this ship?” he asked. “She’s merchant but armed to the teeth. Evidently, the Hercs are master ship-builders. Lassan says if he weren’t so loyal, he’d take her over Pegasus.”
Rand’s face crinkled into laughter; otherwise, he might break down and cry. Captain Rand Kamal, nephew of Emperor Darroch, to command a flying hulk more suited to transporting machinery, foodstuffs, even an occasional platidon, grizzoid, or panta for a zoo. Pok, dimmit, and fyd! Rand swallowed an automatic protest, waved a hand in a gesture of resignation. Omni be thanked Montiene and his children couldn’t see him now. “At this point I’ll take anything that flies. Far better than sitting in a cell.” Or dying without ever having a chance to fight.
“Unfortunately,” Tal said, “we have one more hurdle before we can get out of here, share some karst on ice, and determine which direction is up.”
Kass winced. Oh blessed goddess, they were headed straight for the primary waiting area. And Alek Rybolt.
In the chaotic prelude to yet another battle, a pause to share grief. A time for compassion. Kass walked straight up to Alek and hugged him. “I’m so very, very sorry. The personal loss to all of us is as great as the loss to our fleet.” She squeezed his arm and stepped away, allowing Tal to share Alek’s grief.
Not that she and Tal were certain about a personal attachment between the two captains, but after Jordana hovered by Alek’s bedside for weeks after the crash of Tycho, they couldn’t help but suspect. But then . . . nothing until occasional whispers of footsteps in the walls . . . Merkanov moving out. And now . . . Alek’s ravaged face.
Yes, Jordana Tegge’s death had been a highly persona loss.
Kass’s spirits plunged still further as she saw what waited for them on the airfield below. Heavily armored military transports instead of the customary limms. And guards were posted every fifty meters the entire distance back to Veranelle. Kass, face grim, kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, an image of her Blue Moon firmly fixed in her mind. Blue Moon, a place of singular beauty, a place where violence was unknown.
That kind of thinking is what killed Jordana Tegge.
Of course it was. Kass bowed her head and prayed. This had to be over. Psyclids had lived too long in fear. As had the other twelve systems occupied by the Regs. Over, over, over. It had to be over!
With a battlecruiser, two hunterships, a few frigates, and a bunch of armed merchant ships? Ha!
One on one, no. But with K’kadi, Kass, and B’aela—and, yes, with M’lani, who was an army all by herself. With Alala and the Hercs. Surely that gave the rebels weapons that could best the firepower of Regula Prime. They could do this. They would!
Except they had to live long enough for the Hercs to totally rebuild their fleet, train their officers and crew more thoroughly than the rag-tag bunch of warriors who had helped send the Regulon Fleet scurrying home.
And if all went well—if they saved Psyclid, held out until the Herculon Fleet was fully ready . . .
If the rebels won, what then? Kass’s inner voice asked. Take down Darroch, and you have a vacuum that must be filled.
Be quiet! Too far ahead. One step at a time.
Kass slammed and bolted the door to that niche in her mind. The immediate future was clear. Survive the looming Battle of Psyclid. Regroup. Gather all their forces—not just the Hercs but all the highly trained minds of Psyclid—Ryal, Jalaine, Jagan, M’lani, T’kal and his pack. Cement the newest Reg defectors into the group—Rand and how many of the three hundred twelve?
They could do it. She had to believe that.
But first, they had to live through the next moon cycle.
When their ugly, cumbersome vehicle stopped in the inner courtyard, Tal leaped out and lifted Kass down from the vehicle’s high perch. They both turned to B’ram Biryani, Veranelle’s long-time majordomo with the smiles of two people descending from the finest royal limm. They were home, and somehow all would be well.
Chapter 34
Veranelle, two days later
“Killiri’s been nothing short of phenomenal,” Jagan said, “and for me to admit that, you know he’s been as over-the-top as it’s possible to get. But there’s no way the ridó is going to be finished in time. We’ve reorganized the enlasé we used against the Regs last year, but it can’t do more than slow them down. And by now they must have figured out that no matter how fierce my monster, it really can’t swallow them whole or burn them to cinders.” K’kadi’s monster, however . . . But Jagan had not seen it in action. And no way was he going to place his faith in a brother-in-law even he found strange.
“My question is,” Tal said, “will it hold? The technology is what—ninety or more years old? And never tested by anything worse than a Reg ship bouncing off it.”
An ominous silence was his only answer, until Jagan ground out, “The experts who studied the ridó claim they’ve figured it out. They even insist they’ve improved on the technology. The trouble is, I’m not sure Killiri believes them. He said from the very beginning that force fields aren’t his area of expertise. He’s an engineer, a construction boss, but he can only crack the whip and pray the fydding thing actually works. Beg pardon, damas,” Jagan added on a mutter.
“Poor T’kal.” Kass sighed. “He so wanted to get back to his construction business.”
“Oh, he’s constructing all right,” Jagan growled. “Once again he gets the honor of saving his country.”
“Without him I would be dead,” B’aela murmured.
Kass’s gaze swung to her sister. There was something in her tone that hinted of more than the actual words. The witch and the werewolf? Impossible. But there had been an odd note—a fondness, something more?—in B’aela’s voice that Kass had never heard from her older sister before. Not even when she spoke of her one-time lover, Rand Kamal.
Kass snapped back to what Tal was saying. Clearly, an emergency meeting in Tal’s conference room was no place for romantic speculation.
“Captain Jorkan, how long did it take the Reg ships to get underway after K’kadi’s attack on Hercula?”
“Five or six hours to achieve minimal speed. Speculation is, they might have regained full power within a day, or some may still be out there somewhere, limping home. New situation, Captain. No way to tell.”
“K’kadi? Do you know?”
Twenty or more Reg hours to flank speed; thirty-six, maybe forty to light speed.
Tal’s eyes narrowed, as for the first time he noticed K’kadi’s improved communication skills. “Armaments?” K’kadi shrugged. Tal revised his question. “Do you think you destroyed them? Or did their weapons recover the way the engines did?”
Fried good.
“Major rewiring needed?”
Yes.
“So those ships aren’t likely to be part of the Reg battlegroup?”
Take weeks to fix.
“You destroyed their weapons but not their engines?” Jagan said, his customarily mocking voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of awe.
Yes.
“Which brings me to the point of my question,” Tal said. “We have a good-sized fleet, plus Jagan and his enlasé to help us protect the gap in the Psyclid ridó. “I’ve decided on four ships to protect the capital, where the Regs are bound to concentrate their attack. If the ridó holds—and I believe it will—that would free K’kadi to concentrate on knocking out one or two of the Reg’s best—a huntership, maybe even a cruiser. And then, with B’aela’s help, Kass and K’kadi can move them away from the battlefield and give them a good nudge toward Blue Moon. We have enough ships in the Home Fleet to deal with them until we get back.
“You’re going to let Reg warships through Blue Moon’s ridó?” Jagan breathed. “You’re mad. Stark, raving.”
“Orion? Tycho?” Tal countered, eyebrows raised. “Where would we be if—”
“Reb controlled,” Jagan shot back. “These crews are hostile.”
“In the early days when we
captured Reg merchant ships,” Tal said, keeping his impatience in check, “the defection rate was five to ten percent. Since we took back Psyclid, it’s more like fifty to sixty. Of Kamal’s crew, only six percent refused to protect Psyclid from the emperor. So, yes, we’ll be prepared for resistance—though how the Regs could manage it when even their small arms are fried . . . Frankly, I don’t think it’s going to happen. And besides, we need the ships.” Turning to the Orlondami siblings, Tal added, “What do you say? It’s not as if you haven’t done it before.”
“You’re serious?” B’aela said. “You want us to hijack Reg warships?”
“Why not?” Tal challenged.
A tingle ran up Kass’s spine. Why not indeed?
It is possible, K’kadi said. Maybe we take more than two. B’aela heaved a disgusted sigh. Not do? her brother asked. Need you.
“Oh, I’ll do it,” B’aela conceded. “I’m just wondering how I managed to get myself from witch to warrior.”
“Blame that on me,” Jagan said, his lips curling into a grimace. “Or better yet, on Kass. She’s the one who dragged us off Hell Nine, if you recall.”
Oh yes, B’aela remembered that. The day Psyclid’s Princess Royal turned up alive, shattering all her dreams of happily ever after, even if Hell Nine was the least romantic planet in the Nebulon Sector.
Unaware of the inner conflicts seething around him, Tal advised K’kadi, “Pick their best. We lost our chance for Andromeda. Let’s do better this time.”
From the far end of the table, Rand Kamal nodded agreement. Dagg Lassan scowled, muttering under his breath, “Good riddance.”
“Jagan,” Tal said, “my thanks for all the efforts on the ground. And give T’kal my thanks as well. Without the two of you and M’lani, Psyclid would still be occupied by the Regs.” S’sorrokan turned his attention to everyone present. “Let’s break up into groups. Jagan to Psyclid—I understand he’s to become a father at any moment. K’kadi, Kass, B’aela—work out the details for getting us more ships. “Alek, Rand, Dorn, Gregor, and Dagg, with me. Let’s see what we can devise to defeat Goliath one more time.”
The Bastard Prince (Blue Moon Rising Book 3) Page 27